


The many thoughts of Stanley

by Penstrokes



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen, Writing Prompt, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penstrokes/pseuds/Penstrokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley has had much time to muse and many opportunities to muse about them. Series of one shots based off of writing prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sacred space/ Secret Space

'Stanley' stood motionless as The Narrator pleaded with him to make a decision, a choice. The real Stanley was a spectator to this whole event, apparently above them both. How ironic, Stanley thought, that only when Stanley no longer amused him, no longer satisfied his sense of control did The Narrator insist that he had a choice that mattered.  
Everything faded to black soon enough.

Stanley found himself in his office once more as he'd done countless times. His monitor flickered with the words 'The Stanley Parable'.  
Stanley pushed himself away from it in disgust, listening to the near inaudible going ons of the office outside.  
The clatter of fingers on the keyboard, the ringing of phones.  
To a normal person these words were mundane, but to Stanley who had spent a seemed like forever in that empty duplicate world, it was a weary welcome. It was not a certain indication that he had escaped, more than once he'd been greeted with the same scenario only to come racing out to find himself stuck in the game once again.

How long had it been?  
Hours? Minutes?  
Days? Years?

Stanley didn't know anymore.  
How many times had he found himself in this office?  
It was innumerable.  
Every time he started over his reaction had always been the same.  
Hate  
Disgust  
Welcome  
Solitude

Even if he had come back to the real world, he was bound to this place still. Even if he ran out of the office right now and quit, where would he go?  
Pushing buttons was all he knew.  
There were only so many constants in this world of variables and his office was one of them.  
Whether he'd found freedom or whether he'd been condemned to this fate forever  
This office was his, and it was his sacred space.  
It was where his story forever began and never ended.  
One day for sure, one day he'd end it for good.

Stanley stared at the screen once more.

And then he pushed a button.


	2. Virus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [vi·rus  
> ˈvīrəs/  
> noun  
> 1.  
> an infective agent that typically consists of a nucleic acid molecule in a protein coat, is too small to be seen by light microscopy, and is able to multiply only within the living cells of a host.  
> "a virus infection"
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> 2.  
> a piece of code that is capable of copying itself and typically has a detrimental effect, such as corrupting the system or destroying data.]

Virus, that’s what the Narrator was. A self serving entity who cared only for himself, whose sole purpose in existence was to poke and prod whoever was unfortunate enough to be dragged into his story or dumb enough to willingly follow along. 

 

No, perhaps not dumb. Naive, broken and tired of fighting, of seeking a new path. 

 

He was sickeningly cordial, this proper outer shell was disarming. His authoritative aura luring his protagonist to be with the promise of protection, of knowing what to do. The false promise of freedom, of allowing themselves to try and dictate the meaning in their existence drew them deeper into the Narrator’s web. The farther they fell, clawing after that elusive lie, the more hopeless they became. 

 

The Narrator fed off this hopelessness, this self preservation of one’s own self. It was as if this identity was what fueled him. The loss of everything that one was down to their deepest core both repulsed the Narrator at the thought of a narrative that wasn’t his. The destruction of their soul, their own persona drove The Narrator  wild, salivating at the thought of cultivating the perfect protagonist- a being who could both understand and blindly play along. An unobtainable paradox of ideals. 

 

With no one to listen, to bend to his will, The Narrator was just as powerless as any Stanley he could shape. He needed another who could play his lines, perform his scenes, to give him purpose. A soul who needed another to give him a reason to continue existing. 

 

It was this thought that gave Stanley the drive to continue, to fight The Narrator at every step. After all, if he wanted to turn Stanley into a puppet like him, he was going to have to fight for it. A fight that Stanley had no intention to lose without raising hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, I'm back again. I'm sorry if this chapter isn't very good. I'm trying to get back in the swing of writing TSP so please excuse the drop in quality. I'm going to try and update more. I really want to keep writing for this fandom I just get carried away, busy, or distracted by shiny new fandoms and story plots. 
> 
> Anyway I'm gonna see if I can't keep up on a schedule of some sort. 
> 
> I also wrote this in one siting so I apologize for the clearly inadequate quality and flow


End file.
